Cannons and Coco

Dad's got Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture blaring on the backyard speakers.

I'd taken to the yard to get out of the warm house and sit on the cool grass under the mulberry and brush Coco. It's one of his favorite activities and as he's gotten older, he can no longer stay standing through the whole thing, so I let him lay down and brush as much of him as I can reach depending on which side he's leaning on.

It's all very dramatic. Dad's drinking orange soda on the bench swing, Cleo (the only one who's sense of urgency matches the music) is running in laps like a crazed lunatic, Coco's hair is coming out in handfuls, and cymbals and drums climb towards that crescendo that makes the fresh, early evening take on a surreal setting.

I like the contrast. I sense a trend. Maybe I'll do dishes to Beethoven's Ninth. Lends a little gravitas to the occasion.

(By the way, if you're one of the ones that gets the these post via email, I don't think the video gets transmitted. I think you actually have to click on the link to go to the blogsite.) And if you are one of the ones that gets these posts via email and I'm wrong, please let me know.